


First Winter

by thesecondseal



Series: Acts of Reclamation [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Cullen Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Healing, Humor, Knitting, Letters, Recovery, Sera Being Sera, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:22:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first winter at Skyhold was an interesting time for the Inquisition. Essa, Varric, Blackwall, and Solas spent the winter in the lowlands of Ferelden and once the passes froze, Skyhold was largely cut off from the rest of Thedas. Team building, friendship building, snow, knitting, all manner of settling in to the newly acquired keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hearth Stitches: part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [YES THAT IS A PUN! COME AT ME! :D part one of the Cullen knitting series I’ve been toying around with writing. Spawned from a conversation started on tumblr by azdesertwillow, hils79, and davidwrites. FLUFF.]

The storm blew in early one afternoon. Thick flakes of snow mixed with a steady rain of ice pellets to send the inhabitants of Skyhold scurrying indoors. They had pressed work and repairs on the main hall and the templars tower in preparation for the Frostback’s bitter winter, and had taken the last tent down two days before. Skyhold’s restoration was coming along well and if every room was not yet comfortable, most of the roof was tight. Some of the waxed canvas had been repurposed, drawn tight across the busted roof of the command tower. Cullen hoped it would hold; he had been irrationally charmed by the patches of sky above his bed, but the feature seemed less appealing now with the wind blasting sharply against the keep.

“How are we doing?” Cullen asked as he joined the other advisors in Josie’s office.  

They had made the room more than comfortable for waiting on the weather. He and Cassandra had liberated the Inquisitor’s neglected sofa that morning, adding it to the furniture grouped near the fire. Cassandra was sprawled on one end, a stack of reports beside her.

“Everyone is accounted for,” Josie said from her desk. She made one final notation on the parchment before her and rose, gesturing toward the table that held the evening meal.  “There is plenty of stew, and extra bread. Some cheese, nuts, and dried fruit. A rather simple fare, but I am grateful.”

“She is grateful that the nobles who fled with us from Haven likewise fled home when the Inquisitor departed for the winter,” Leliana corrected.

She was crouched at the hearth tending the fire.  When she was satisfied with the level of the blaze, she got to her feet and wandered to the sideboard to pour some wine.

“I am,” Josie admitted with a sigh as she accepted the goblet Leliana held out. “We need the allies, and reputation, but I fear we could not have provided the sort of hospitality to which they are accustomed.”

“Yes,” Cullen said dryly. “Saving them from an archdemon and the Elder One was the coarsest breach of etiquette.”

Cassandra snorted. “That’s what I said,” she groused.

“And you are quite correct,” Leliana soothed. “But it does not change the fact that they wouldn’t thank us for a dull winter in the mountains without even a possible glimpse of the Inquisitor.”

“Then I am glad that they’re gone,” Cullen said, dropping the paperwork that he had brought onto a clear spot on Josephine’s desk.

“So much work tonight?” Cassandra asked, glancing toward the stack.

“Not really,” Cullen replied. “I wasn’t certain how long we would be here.”

It was a little strange, all of them in casual dress, tucked around a fire while the snow fell in an endless cascade outside. It didn’t feel like work, but he wasn’t used to anything but. Cullen left his reports and walked over to the sofa to sink down beside Cassandra, listening to the soft rise and fall of Leliana and Josie’s conversation.

“I dispatched the order for dress uniforms last week,” Josie said. “Along with rough measurements. Hopefully we will be able to get to Val Royeaux for a decent fitting early in the spring.”

“And hopefully we will receive an invitation to the Winter Palace sooner rather than later,” Leliana added.

Cullen wisely kept his opinions to himself. He suspected Leliana and Josephine were going to have enough trouble with Essa without him adding to their difficulties. He understood the necessity, but he would rather have sent anyone else in his place, and he knew that wasn’t going to be an option. He tried to put it from his mind for the time being.

“What are you doing?” he asked, turning to Cassandra.

She was in the process of putting aside her papers and had dragged out a small cloth basket.

“Knitting,” she said, as if it were the most practical of skills and not one utterly at odds with what Cullen thought he knew of her personality. “My grandfather taught me.”

She finished putting her reports away and took a skein of dark yarn from the basket along with two knitting needles. A length of knit stretched between them, a simple pattern in deep red. Cullen eyed the instruments with curiosity, watched as Cassandra’s fingers moved over the yarn, straightening faults he couldn’t see. She settled back, one needle in each hand, the ball of yarn beside her.

“Would you like to learn?” she asked grudgingly.

“Maybe,” Cullen said, surprising himself. “But I’ll watch you for a bit first if you don’t mind.”

She grunted in acquiescence, then spent the better part of the next hour ignoring him. Cullen watched her hands works, noted the easy, repetitive rhythm detracted not at all from her conversations with Leliana and Josephine.  Knitting appeared to be good busy work, like cleaning and sharpening his weapons…which he could admit he did too often just for a mental break from his duties. He had tried and failed too many times to empty his mind enough to try to sleep.

“Some projects work up really fast,” Cassandra said, breaking him from his observations. “You could make a scarf or a hat in the matter of a few evenings.”

Cullen nodded. “Teach me.”

She raised an eyebrow at the order. Cullen ducked his head a little and added “Please.”

Cassandra smiled, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully toward the windows at the snow that seemed to have only increased its rate of fall.

“Al’right, Commander, but I am not as patient as my grandfather. You better be a quick study.”


	2. Heart Stitches: part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [If you spot and actually laugh at my yarn pun, you are a rare creature, that’s all I’ma say. ;) part two of the Cullen knitting series. part of First Winter. FLUFF. Friendship. Healing. Support structure!]

Cullen was indeed a quick study. It took him most of the night to manage a rudimentary understanding of the basics of knitting. By the time Cassandra was through—and with the addition of helpful comments from Josephine—Cullen could cast on, knit, purl, and cast his work off of the needles. Cassandra claimed he had knitted two fairly decent potholders, or coasters. The squares of navy wool were rather small. Josie and Leliana seemed particularly charmed when he offered them to them. Even now, their goblets were resting rather precariously on the thick knit.

Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, the crackling fire, the comfort food, or the honeyed wine. Perhaps it was all of these things, or some quality he couldn’t name, but Cullen soon found himself more at ease than he had been in years. Part of him marveled at the ridiculousness of it all. The commander of the Inquisition was knitting his first scarf on a pair of borrowed knitting needles, sitting in a circle with three of the most powerful women he had ever known…chatting. That was the only word for it. There was a merry rhythm to the ebb and flow of their conversations. Laughter rose bright and warm in defiance of the storm that raged outside and for a moment or two Cullen could remember sitting in by the hearth with his siblings begging stories from their mother to pass a rainy evening.

While his hands were busy counting, his lips seemed to have a mind of their own. For every story shared between the Inquisition’s advisers, Cullen had one to contribute. The four of them talked late into the snowy night, anecdotes turning from youthful misadventures to lost shoes, missed assignations, and bumbling lovers.

As one who imagined himself more than a little bumbling, Cullen tried not to take offense.

“And what of you, Cullen?” Leliana asked, voice soft and cajoling.

He had a moment to worry that she was going to ask about his past, or tease him about his earliest fumbling infatuation, but she had long held his secrets with care. He should not have been concerned.

“Any misplaced footwear lurking in bygone days?”

Cullen smiled. “If you must know…”

Cassandra put her work down and leaned forward in anticipation. “This will be good.”

“There was a little girl named Amelie in Kirkwall,” Cullen began, his steady hands not pausing in his work as he spun his tale. “She was a chantry orphan, dumped off on the steps one rainy morning. She was always getting into trouble, mad antics, that even the other kids wouldn’t join in on…but I don’t know…I think we all had a soft spot for her. I know that most of the sisters did. Amelie had a knack for extravagant tales to cover her mishaps. A battle with a werewolf to explain a torn dress. Ghosts who unbraided her hair in the night and a family of rats who slept in it when they got cold. There was an Antivan assassin who stole her slate. I swear, she would have given Varric competition.”

Cullen laughed softly, his knitting needles a soft clack as he finished a stitch and paused. The fire popped bright and crackling over the quiet shush of the snow and the ice outside the window. “One night, I was passing by the Chantry—“

“No doubts sneaking to prayers in the quiet,” Leliana teased gently.

Cullen ‘s lip hitched up on one side in a small smile. “You might be right.”

He checked his work for a moment, unraveled a few stitches and started again.

“The moons were high. The clouds were dashing across them and it looked like the windows of the Chantry were flickering with color. Amelie came bursting out of the doors, just as I reached the steps, the most mutinous expression I’ve ever seen on the face of a child—“

He laughed heartily at the memory. “And I have two sisters!”

“What happened?” Josie asked, caught in Cullen’s yarn.

“She shouted at me,” he replied, voice still holding his shock and amazement. “If you can believe it. Told me that I was late and that she’d had to give one of her shoes as appeasement to a pixie in order to save my spot at the altar.”

Cassandra started laughing. “She _what_?”

“I am a creature of habit,” he admitted, not that he needed to. “Amelie saw me often enough at prayers. She insisted that because I was late, a pixie had tried to take my spot and that the only way to placate it was to give it her shoe. For an imaginary slight, she seemed to take it all rather personally. I didn’t know what to do. So I stood there, staring at my toes while she berated me with the tenacity of a field general.”

Leliana and Josie were snickering helplessly by the time Cullen paused to give them all a chance to breathe.

“By the time she was through,” he told them. “I felt like a green recruit whose woeful lack of discipline had wronged Andraste herself.  I saw no recourse but to give her my boot as recompense.”

Even after all these years, Cullen was still piqued. Cassandra took one look at his indignant face and guffawed. Josie glanced back and forth between the two of them before dissolving into giggles.

“She ushered me to prayers with the bearing of a Chantry mother,” Cullen said, shaking his head in amused confusion that had never abated. “The sisters later told me she kept my boot by her bed, filled with odd trinkets and flowers.”

“And when you got back to the Tower?” Leliana laughed, eyes sparkling with mirth. “How did you explain to your men that you had lost a boot on the way back from the Chantry?”

Cullen shrugged. “I told them I lost it in a game of Wicked Grace at the Hanged Man. Solved more than one problem, though I fear the tale was not not quite worthy of Amelie.”

“You are a cruel man, Commander,” Leliana said, lips stretching to a wide grin. “To give me a story like this when you know that I will not tell it. It would have been such a treat to see you limping through Kirkwall, all perfect and polished but for one missing boot.”

She laughed happily at the image. “Please tell me that your sock had a hole in it.”

“Two of them,” Cullen said with a small smile. “My big toe stuck out of one.”

Leliana’s laughter rocked through her; she dropped one hand on his arm.

“You are a good man, Cullen,” she said, almost gently.

He stiffened slightly, and while Josie and Cassandra were still laughing too loudly to hear her, Leliana shook her head. “Even then.”

“I—“

“Show me your work,” Leliana said then, a little louder, leaning in to look at Cullen’s knitting. “Are you really enjoying it?”

“I am,” Cullen answered, letting the surge of emotions drift. He held up a length of knit as long as his forearm and as wide as his palm. “Surprisingly. I don’t know how long it will take me to garner any real skill, but I might finish this lumpy before the storm passes.”

“I think you could,” Cassandra agreed, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes and regaining her lost composure. “It is well done for a first try, and I think the busy work suits you.”

He thought she was right and tried to explain it to them. There was a soothing quality to knitting. The repetition of movement, the slide of the yarn through his fingers. The wool caught on his callouses. Leliana offered to get him some hand cream and he was at least pretty certain she was teasing him.

“You would have the Inquisition’s commander smelling like lavender or honeysuckle,” Cassandra dismissed in disdain. “And what woman wants a man with soft hands?”

“Woman?” Cullen glanced up from his work, a flush staining his cheeks. He could only hope the warmth would be mistaken for firelight.

Cassandra waved one hand in dismissal. “Or man,” she continued loftily.

Leliana giggled. “Oh, I don’t know, Cassandra. There is something to be said for caresses that don’t snag on silk or lace.”

Josie sighed dreamily. Cassandra grunted, but Cullen didn’t miss the gleam in her eyes.

“I think that’s my cue to depart,” he decided,  rising to his feet.

“Oh, Cullen, please don’t leave on our account,” Josie said, stumbling a bit as she climbed to her feet.

Cullen smiled. “It is no matter, Lady Montilyet. I should make some rounds anyway.”

“You will return.” It sounded much less like a question and more like an order from Cassandra.

“I will,” he agreed.

He tried to return Cassandra’s knitting needles to her.

“You have a knack, Commander,” she seemed pleased with his progress. “Keep them until you have your own. I have some extra yarn that I will share, and later I will show you how to unravel old knits for more.”

Cullen looked at the short length of roughly knit…scarf hanging from his needles.  “A knack you say?” the skepticism was clear in his voice.

“Yes,” she insisted. “We’ll have you knitting throw rugs with your eyes closed before too long.”

Josie and Leliana laughed, though not unkindly. Cullen found himself joining them.

“Thank you, Cassandra.”

To her dismay, he dropped a kiss on her temple, then treated the still giggling Josie to the same. Leliana walked him to the door, and placed a kiss on his forehead. Cullen felt the benediction she did not speak aloud.

“We’ll be here,” she promised.

“I know.”


	3. Hearth Stitches: part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m actually a little ashamed. I found this on my favorite drive and it’s apparently been here for a month or so…here, have some Cullen fluff. 977 words of adorable if I do say so myself.

Cullen assumed that the first ball of yarn he found on his desk was from Cassandra. It was the same coarse wool that she had first given him to learn with; this one dyed a dark blue rather than dark red. He had finished that first scarf days ago. It was a hopelessly flawed stretch of rows that alternated knit and purl, and the neatly variegated texture he had been attempting was spoiled by beginner’s flaws. He was quietly proud of it. All the more so after the head cook’s youngest daughter spied it one evening when bringing him tea and supper.

“I didn’t know you could knit,” Nadie said, her bright brown eyes falling immediately on the knitting.

He had thought it well out of sight, but Cullen would wager she was a future scout. There was not much the youth missed.

“I’m just learning,” he answered reluctantly, still not sure why he felt he had been caught at something.

“Aye, me too,” Nadie agreed. She placed the dinner tray on the edge of Cullen’s desk.  “So let’s see your work then.”

Nadie wasn’t old enough to be put off by class and rank, but she was old enough to remember that they had been taught them. Cullen guessed she was around ten, a quiet girl with an uncanny sense of discipline. She was one of a dozen or so children who lived in Skyhold and her mother often sent Nadie out to fetch and carry.  

She scrutinized the beginning of Cullen’s second project, eyes moving shrewdly over the navy yarn.

“What’s it gonna be?” she asked. “A scarf?”

Cullen nodded. “It’s my second. The first is a bit rough.”

Nadie eyes brightened. “Can I have a look?” she asked curiously. “I’m not quite up to scarves.”

Cullen was too often helpless before the unabashed enthusiasm of children. Nadie was no different. He found himself agreeing easily to a request he would have refused to almost any another. While he opened one of the low drawers of his desk to retrieve the scarf, Nadie prattled to him about her own meager beginnings.

“I’m not quite up to scarves,” Nadie told him again, words tumbling cheerfully one after the other as he relinquished his work. She held the scarf this way and that. “I get bored too quick. This is lovely. Did you pick Inquisition red on purpose?”  She didn’t give him a chance to answer. “I know that I’m gonna have to do better though with all this cold. I  _have_  made quite a few dish scrubbers and potholders for the kitchen, but we use cotton for that, nothing so fine as this wool.”

“I like the boring bit,” Cullen said, trying to respond to each statement or question that he thought Nadie would feel warranted a reply. “No, the red was just the yarn I was taught with. It is nice though, I agree, but I’ll have to try cotton sometime. I don’t know if I would call it lovely, but you can have it if you like.”

“What?” Nadie glanced up at him, eyes wide in shock. “Oh, no ser, it’s your first work.”

Behind her polite refusal, he caught a glimpse of yearning.

“It’s alright,” Cullen said. “I just started another. I know this one is not quality work. If you don’t want it…”

Nadie glared at him, clutching the scarf protectively to her chest. “It’s your first piece,” she said. “I thought you would want to keep it.”

“My grandfather always gave away the first fruits of his garden,” Cullen said a bit more at ease. “Said it showed the Maker that you were devoted to your brothers and sisters, not just your own. I think that might apply to knitting as well.”

Nadie nodded. Her face took on a very serious expression as she wrapped the scarf around her neck.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping a curtsy.  

From the smile that lit her face, Cullen had given her a great prize.

“You’re welcome,” he said, feeling uncommonly shy before her earnest gaze.

The next morning, Nadie’s mother delivered his breakfast, complete with sweet rolls and a pot of tea sitting proudly on a knitted square of bright yellow cotton.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, brown eyes so like her daughter’s. “For what you did for Nadie.”

When he tried to brush aside her thanks, Ola rapped him lightly across the knuckles.

“It is not nothing. That child hasn’t smiled since Haven,” Ola said, unpacking his breakfast tray with strong, capable hands. “And then last evening she comes bursting into my kitchen, smile shinin’ like the sun above her new scarf.”

Ola wiped her hands on her apron before resting them on her hips. “I asked her where she came by it, and if my Nadie was one to tell tales I might not have believed her.”

She picked up the tea pot, placed the cotton square on his desk, before placing the pot on top of it. “That’s for you,” Ola said. “She worked it up last night. And sent you this.”

She reached into the deep pocket of her apron and produced a skein of bright green yarn. “For your next project.”

Cullen was rendered speechless by the kindness.

“Knitting is good busy work,” Ola told him. “Especially in the winter. Quiets the mind when you get tired of being cooped up, but can’t do aught about it. You let us know if you need more yarn, commander. We didn’t bring much with us, but we’ll share.  I’ve been trying to get some woolens knitted for the little ones.”

“I’ll help,” Cullen said gruffly.

“I thought you might,” she said, nodding with approval. “You master scarves, I’ll show you how to make hats.”

She bustled back out, leaving Cullen staring after her, a bemused smile on his face.

 


	4. Jackboot & Buttercup

Cullen found her to be a hard one to trust. Sera, the twitchy elf whose past Leliana only cursorily shared with the rest of them. He suspected that this was because even Leliana didn’t know the whole of it, and that made him even warier than he was already. She had lurked in the tavern at Haven, and she lurked in the Herald’s Rest now that they were at Skyhold. Her eyes were too often narrowed with suspicion., always watching and listening. Cullen did not doubt that Sera had an information network that rivaled their Spymaster’s. Most of the time, her tips or suggestions produced unparalleled results, he would give her that, but Cullen still had a difficult time putting any faith in her.

Essa, of course, didn’t seem to have that problem. Even when Sera was flinching away and cursing her for her magic. Cullen had asked once at a morning meeting, just after Sera had joined them, what in Andraste’s name Essa saw in the elf.

“That _elf_ makes more sense to me than most of the rest of you,” Essa had shrugged. “And at least she’s upfront about her fears. Makes it a lot easier not to frighten her into doing something we’ll both regret.”

Cullen had wisely not broached the subject again, and after the battle at Haven he couldn’t help warming to Sera. Her arrows had screamed in an unfaltering war song as she, Essa, Vivienne, and Cassandra fought to give him time to get their people to safety. Sera had been grievously injured by the time Essa sent her party back—without her—to catch up to the fleeing citizens of Haven. In the long day that followed, she had searched the cold and the snow as tirelessly as any. But it wasn’t until their first winter in Skyhold that Cullen began to see Sera as more than Essa’s quixotic ally.

The entire keep was restless. Winter rolled across the Frostbacks with belligerence, cutting them off from all but the most determined of Leliana’s agents and leaving them largely dependent upon her birds for communication. The Chargers had managed a few salvage runs and Josie had called in quite a few expensive favors to get the fortress stocked in the scant weeks they had before the first heavy snowfall froze movement in and out of the mountains to a reluctant halt. Cullen spent the first week reorganizing the training schedules and duty rosters in deference to the biting cold. He, Cassandra, and Ser Barris worked tirelessly on program adjustments for the templars. There was still so much to be done with restructuring the order, in addition to rooting out those who most dangerously opposed Essa’s leadership. Still, even with the increase in paperwork and meetings, Cullen soon found himself with something curiously like free time on his hands.

“What is Sera doing?” he asked Cassandra as she approached, a steaming mug of tea in each hand.

Sera was down in the training ring, muttering loudly about shite arrows, stuffed shirts, and complaining about the cold. The target dummies were bristling with arrows, tight clusters of bright fletching making intricate patterns. Sera called every shot before she took it, grumbling instructions to herself.

“She claims to be bored,” Cassandra said drolly. “But I think she has finally taken pity on our archers and is attempting to improve their skill level without actually speaking to them.”

 “Line of sight. Shoulders down. Breath in. Breath half out on the release. It’s not hard, you daft twit.”

Cullen could hear Sera clearly. She wasn’t even trying to hide her surly mood, but none of the archers had taken any of her griping personally. They had, however, made adjustments to their form. In the half hour that Sera had been pouting in the yard, the Inquisition’s archers had already improved.

“Do you think she would train them?” he asked, taking the cup of tea Cassandra held out to him. “Thank you.”

“She _is_ training them,” Cassandra answered with a grunt.  “Leave her alone and we’ll have the finest archers in Thedas.”

*

Sera’s mood continued for weeks, though by the second, she was interacting with the archers, answering questions and throwing praise and criticism with the same coarse tongue.  Sera insisted she was never trained and that she wasn’t disciplined enough for regular practice, but whether she was lying or simply possessed an incredible natural talent, she was still a remarkable teacher. 

Which Cullen told her, much to both their chagrin, one quiet evening in the tavern.

“What you goin’ on about?” Sera asked, blinking in disbelief.

Cullen took a breath and let in out slowly. Patience, he reminded himself. He was here to ask her for a favor after all.

“I would like your help with some close quarters combat training,” he said again.

“What?” she repeated, scowling in surprise. “Like with knives?”

“You were complaining earlier today that your skills were getting rusty,” he reminded her calmly, taking a sip of his ale and deliberately avoiding her eyes.

“Yeah, so? You looking to do me a favor now?”

“Hardly,” Cullen muttered. “You’re not a woman I want in my debt. I was rather hoping you could help me improve my skills.”

She giggled then. “You think owing me is better than me owing you?”

“Marginally.”

Sera nudged him in the ribs. “She got the drop on you, eh?”

Cullen ran one hand through his hair. There was no use pretending that he didn’t know what Sera was insinuating.

“You’ve seen her do it then?”

“Move like a lightning strike, you mean?” Sera downed half of her tankard. “Yeah, quick as spit that one. Just has the one move though. Our Es isn’t a proper rogue any more than she’s a proper mage, but she can be fast in spurts if she’s scared or mad enough.”

She turned to him then, eyes searching his face. “What did you do?” Sera arched a brow at him.

Cullen glanced away, not catching the lack of judgment in her tone until he had done so. Sera wasn’t accusing him, he realized. She was merely curious. Still, he wasn’t one for discussing his personal life, and certainly not anything between him and Essa.

“We were having a discussion,” he told her on a sigh. “It grew…intense.”

Sera laughed. “Meaning you sparked Essa’s fire and she tried to stalk off, am I right?”

He flushed and found himself thankful for the dim light of the tavern.

“Not like that,” she laughed, bumping him again. “She lost her temper, yeah?”

“Yes,” he admitted, trying not to worry that he had revealed some of his feelings for Essa. “I grabbed her arm and—“

“She pulled your blade on you.”

“Yes,” Cullen sighed again.

It had been a gentle hold, more of an entreaty than restraint, but he still felt terrible for it.

“Don’t feel too bad, jackboot,” Sera said, finishing her ale and clunking her tankard to the tabletop. “She got the drop on Bull once. He nearly broke her wrist. Escalation, Dorian called it.” Sera shuddered. “You hurt her?”

“No,” Cullen said.

“Then stop with the sad shit. We’ll work on your hands tomorrow.”

It was Cullen’s turn to raise a brow.

“Not like that, jackboot.” Sera rolled her eyes. “You wish.”

*

They began working the next night, when the moon was high enough to dapple the ground in inconstant light. Cullen dressed in as few layers as he dared in the cold.  No clanking armor: Sera’s orders. He went with a wool jacket over a thick silk tunic for warmth and wool breeches. Soft soled boots.

“Just pretend you’re wantin’ to be sneaky,” Sera had instructed.  “And bring whatever knives you’re comfortable with.”

He thought it might surprise her to learn that he could be quite sneaky when he wanted.

“Not bad, jackboot,” Sera said as he joined her in the empty training ring. “No uniform. Look almost like people. A little naked.”

“I am people, buttercup,” Cullen replied glad that he had remembered Varric’s nickname for Sera. “And hardly naked.”

He stood still as Sera circled him in silence, her shadowed gaze shrewd and appraising; he felt a little naked.

“You warrior types wear your daggers in the most obvious places,” Sera sighed, breath puffing out white against the darkness.

She plucked Cullen’s dagger from the front of his belt and waved it at him. “Mages do too, bloody shite. Like yellin’ your secrets in the tavern.”

Her fingers brushed the hidden blade at the back of his belt. “Now this is good...wouldn’t have noticed it if I didn’t have one just like it.”

She turned to show him the sheath attached horizontally to the inside back of her belt. “Lanea in Kirkwall, yeah?”

Cullen nodded.

“A little elfy,” Sera  mused. “But does good work.”

He smiled and the reaction gave him pause. It was one of the first times since leaving Kirkwall that Cullen could remember having the occasion to smile about his time there.

He cleared his throat, tucked the thought away for later.  “Yes, she does. I’m going to see if Harritt and Fin can make one for the Inquisitor.”

“Oh, Es will love that,” she nodded. “But don’t think it’ll get her to go for her own weapon first.”

Cullen chuckled. “I’m not actually here to learn strategies for dealing with Es—the Inquisitor.”

“Got that figured out on your own, then?” Sera asked, cocking one hip and regarding him carefully.

“Hardly,” he said with a rueful huff before shifting the topic. “When we go to Halamshiral, I will not be able to walk around the Winter Palace with an obvious display of weapons. I will not go unarmed.”

“Stupid game,” Sera muttered with a nod. “Not enough arrows for that place.”

“No,” Cullen agreed sympathetically.

“So you and me, jackboot,” she decided with finality. “We’ll get better with the knives. Give em a poke if they get out of line.”

“Yes.”

“I might like you,” Sera accused.

“I won’t let it go to my head,” Cullen promised.

*

She stalked him for two months, lurking in shadows, leaping out of nothing to attack without warning. Cullen suffered the losses with as much humility as he could and Sera suffered his victories with more patience than he deserved. They were training exercises, he reminded himself over and over, but somehow their interactions turned into an absurd sort of game. One that they both enjoyed, even if they weren’t yet at the point of admitting it to themselves, much less to one another. If Leliana accused them of playing like kittens, she only did so once in Cullen’s earshot and he steadfastly ignored her, for the sake of his pride.

“Don’t bother, buttercup,” Cullen called smugly one evening when he returned to his supposedly empty office. “I know you’re in the shadows behind the ladder.”

“Frigging shite,” Sera complained, flipping down from the ladder and stomping out of her cover. “How do I know you weren’t bluffing?”

“You don’t,” Cullen said with a smirk. “I brought tea.”

She was muttering as she joined him at his desk. Cullen caught her arm before she tapped the flat of a blade against his side. He nudged the back of her knee with the toe of his boot. One good kick and she would lose her footing.

“Piss,” she grumbled, but the complaint lacked any venom. “Stupid fancypants won’t get the drop on you, jackboot.”

She was proud of him; she hid it behind a tart glare.

“Thank you, Sera,” Cullen said, unpacking the tea tray. “Your expertise has been very valuable.”

“Exper—pssfff!”

She perched on one corner of his desk, carefully nudging a stack of documents to the side with what appeared to be a negligent toss. After so many weeks of spending time together, Cullen knew better. Sera could be incredibly kind and respectful as long as she didn’t think anyone noticed.

“You ever want me to jump on you and try to put a few knives to you again, you just let me know. Was better than sitting on my arse waiting for the thaw.”

Cullen passed her a sandwich.

“Oh, I stole the last one like this that cook sent you,” Sera said, taking a bite in appreciation and speaking around a mouthful. “This mustard is good.”

“I don’t like mustard,” he replied causally.

Sera choked on her bite. Her eyes narrowed.  “You shit. You ordered it knowin’ I’d snitch it?”

“You had been hiding in here for a long time that day. I thought you might have been hungry.”

“Smartypants jackboot. Frigging…”

Cullen smiled as the name calling trailed off and Sera went back to her food in earnest. He picked up his own sandwich and stared toward the windows.

“Probably have another month at least,” he said.

Sera swung her feet, nudged him in the leg with her toes. “You gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?” Cullen asked, but he should have asked “who?” and Sera smirked at the slip.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” she said, tossing back her tea like a shot of bad whisky. “You change your mind, you come talk to me. I’ll buy you a drink and give you some tips.”

“On Essa?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“On women,” Sera said. “Most of ‘em will probably work on Essa, but that’s a weird one, so maybe not.”

She kicked him then. Cullen took the attack as the sign of affection she intended. “You’re a weird one too, Cully-Wully. She could do worse.”

“Thank you, Sera. I find you’ve grown on me as well.”

“’I find you’ve grown on me as well’,” she mimicked in a deep, proper voice. “I’m not gonna stop sneaking you until the flowers bloom.”

Cullen threw back his head and laughed. “Thank the Maker for that,” he said. “There is no telling what the rest of the keep would suffer if you were bored.”

“You would miss me,” Sera retorted.

“I’ll deny it,” Cullen assured her.

 

 

 


	5. Besotted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doing some housekeeping on tumblr and found this lovely bit. In which a flustered Cullen continues to come to terms with well...everything.

Cullen knew where she was, of course he did. But he still wondered what she was doing at that moment. Was she fighting or riding or had they taken a much needed break? He knew she was fine, better than fine. Essa excelled in the field. There were regular reports from ravens and Leliana’s most intrepid scouts. The most recent had come only a few days ago, so he knew she was in Orlais, no doubt cursing the heat or mocking Varric for cursing the wilderness. Her last letter had been wary, still testing the footing between them. He should have written her back, told her that there was no need for such caution, but his dreams of her left him uncertain.

Aching.

Maker’s breath, he missed her. Spring–and her return–felt years away.

“You’re losing.” The cheerful singsong was Dorian’s and that the man hadn’t obnoxiously crowed the declaration of his impending victory was further proof of just how subdued everyone was. “Your usual formidableness appears rather lackluster this afternoon.”

They were both off of their game. Dorian had only tried to cheat once since they sat down. Winter had become an interminable drag of bleak grey. The snow had melted in a rare warm day weeks ago, or perhaps from whatever enchantments lingered in the Skyhold’s stones. Either way, none had yet fallen to replace it, and all that remained was brittle and barren.  A near melancholy listlessness had taken hold of the fortress. Sera was more churlish than usual. Cassandra spent nearly every waking hour taking her frustrations out on the training dummies; her “favorite” had been replaced twice in as many weeks. Cullen was faring better than most, though lately he had been unable to do much more than harass his paperwork in a vain attempt to scratch thoughts of Essa from his mind.

Dorian cleared his throat, dragging Cullen’s attention back. Again. He had lost track of how many agains.

“Where has your mind wandered to?”

“Nowhere,” Cullen replied a shade too quickly. He forced his gaze back to the board before him.

“It doesn’t look like ‘nowhere’,” Dorian argued cheerfully. “Orlais perhaps? With a stubborn chin, a crooked nose, and a pair of brooding grey eyes.”

“Essa doesn’t brood,” Cullen glared at their game, moved a pawn out to lure Dorian’s remaining chevalier.

“’Essa’ is it?” Dorian chuckled. “If I recall, last week you lectured me on the finer points of the importance of formality.”

He moved his priest and added. “You must admit, she does brood on occasion.”

Cullen’s smile answered before he could stop it. “She does,” he agreed. Essa’s mind was a fascinating tangle. He was constantly surprised by her thoughts.

“So how long have you been completely besotted?”  Dorian finally took the bait; conceding the pawn so smoothly that Cullen nearly missed his question.

“What?” Cullen dropped his tower and stared across the game board at Dorian. “What are you talking about?”

Dorian lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Confess, Commander. I may not have been here long, but even I can see it. You get a very particular look in your eyes whenever you speak of her.”

“If anything,” Cullen deflected, quickly setting up an inelegant gambit for which he could only hope Dorian would fall. “You saw infatuation. Of which I am not proud, but I will admit to you, because you  are about to lose—again—and I know how that hurts your pride. But if you so much as breathe it—“

Dorian laughed. “I hate to interrupt what would no doubt be a truly intimidating threat, but we both know I don’t exactly gossip down at the tavern. Besides,” he leaned forward in concern. “This seems rather serious.”

“It isn’t.” Cullen ran one hand through his hair with a sigh. “Alright, it is.” He sighed again, loudly. “I don’t have time for this.”

He started to his feet, but Dorian placed one hand on his arm. “You’ll make a scene, Commander, if you go storming through the garden. Sit.”

Cullen sank back down into his chair.

“You don’t have time for what exactly?” Dorian asked.

“As if I even know,” Cullen. “For the constant distraction of the woman. I have _work_ to do.”

He did not have time to be mooning over Essa like some…what had Dorian called it? Besotted. He was behaving like some besotted adolescent.

“Sounds terribly inconvenient.” Looking back, Cullen would note the sarcasm in his friend’s tone, but amidst his own frustration, he missed it.

“It is. It’s a blighted nuisance. “ When Dorian failed to make the appropriate sounds of commiseration, Cullen added for emphasis. “She’s a mage!”

As if that decided everything.

“She is,” Dorian agreed, was kind enough not to point out that he was too. Cullen’s eyes narrowed as his impeccably kept mustache twitched. “Mostly,” he added.

Mostly. Cullen rubbed at his eyes, trying futilely to press back the start of a headache.

“If it’s any comfort,” Dorian continued helpfully. “She’ll never be a proper mage, so I hardly see that standing between you. Besides, it might not be as bad as all that.”

“You think so?” Cullen made the mistake of asking.

“Who knows?” Dorian soothed. “Familiarity might cure you.”

Cullen stared at Dorian in shocked disbelief, not quite trusting his ears. “”Familiarity might’—“ He gaped. “As if I would—Essa is not some…momentary diversion.” 

Cullen’s temper gave him steadier footing. “What do you propose? That I just take her to bed, be rid of the constant compulsion?”

“Constant, you say?”

But Cullen continued in frantic ire. “It isn’t as simple as that. Not for either of us. She’s the Inquisitor, for Andraste’s sake! The Herald—“

He knew that he courted sacrilege. Some nights more than others. Before he could return to his tirade, Dorian’s laughter echoed through the gazebo.

“It’s worse than I imagined,” Dorian managed between artful guffaws; he seemed impervious to Cullen’s most disapproving stare. “Maker’s breath! You’re in love with her.”

Cullen closed his mouth with a snap, took Dorian’s king with more vengeance than was strictly warranted.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he retorted.

_“I’m_  ridiculous?” Dorian tipped his head back. Cullen suspected that only the man’s vanity kept him from howling his laughter into the sky.


	6. The Space Between Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen Rutherford. Cassandra Pentaghast. Friendship. First Winter. Skyhold. A little angst? Thanks always to themightyzan who reads my drivel first and tells me it’s not just me indulging my melodrama, but fit for sharing. :D

The cold had emptied the garden. Dorian reminded Cullen of his thin Tevinter blood and retired inside to a good book, a cozy chair, and mulled wine. His king lay on its side, more in concession to the bitter weather than the game Cullen had been inelegantly losing. The sun fell behind the mountains, casting Skyhold into shadow, and what precious warmth the pale stone had managed to gather in over the short day was leeched away quickly. Cullen slouched down into the thick fur of his collar, not yet ready to feel the heavy walls around him.

“You’ll catch your death,” Cassandra reprimanded by way of greeting.

She dropped a heavy wool blanket into his lap on her way through the gazebo to Dorian’s vacant chair. One glance at their abandoned game earned a brief tsk from the Seeker.

“Bad day?” she asked, tugging the heavy folds of her heavy cloak comfortably around her.

Cullen nodded shortly. It was one of the worst he’d had, and not for the usual reasons. There’d been no nightmares or body aches , no cold sweats or waking panics to drag him from his too infrequent sleep. He couldn’t claim to have slept well, but there was marked improvement in the past few weeks. Then this morning, he had forgotten an entire conversation with one of his lieutenants. Even when she tried to remind him of her request, nothing had triggered his recall. The memory was simply gone, plucked from his mind as if it had never been.

He recounted the event to Cassandra dispassionately.

“Is this the first incident?” Her tone was brusque as she questioned him.

“As far as I know,” Cullen returned, running one hand through his hair in agitation. “But how would I really know if I am forgetting so completely?”

“How long ago did the lieutenant bring you her request?”

“A few weeks,” he said. “The day the Inquisitor departed.”

Cassandra’s lips twitched as a smile ghosted by.

“It is possible that you were somewhat distracted,” she suggested dryly.

Cullen scowled at her. “If that’s true,” he retorted. “Then you had best remove me from my duties now, before it gets worse.”

Cassandra smirked. “You think you’re going to get worse?”

“You _have_ met the woman,” he rejoined, voice flat with sarcasm.

She chuckled and he let her shift the topic from his lyrium-ravaged mind to Essa. Logically, he knew that it was yet early for either of them to be worried, and he was troubled enough already for the both of them. There was no need for her to carry part of the burden yet.

Cassandra smiled slightly. “I have met her,” she agreed. “I admit to being more fond of her than is wise, but honestly, Cullen.”

Her smiled faded. “I am surprised at you.”

The wind drifted brittle and hesitant over the walls of the lifeless garden. It would roar before the night was through. Winter was death in the highlands. Life did not slumber, patient and persisting beneath the ice and snow; it vanished utterly, reappearing only by some miracle with fragile fecundity each spring.  Now, the Frostbacks were filled with an aching and hollow dirge, a lonesome sound steeped in cold wet stone and leagues of desolate mountain.

“Is this the part where you remind me of my duty?” Cullen asked too softly.

“You know your duty,” Cassandra countered. “It is your heart that draws my concern.”

She sighed, the exhalation echoing against the breath of the mountains. “Has she written you?”

Cullen nodded. There was still too much they needed to talk about. No matter what lay unspoken and unadmitted between them, their demons could not go ignored. They would only nourish one another in the space between confessions until nothing remained but teeth and claws and distrust.

“Don’t worry,” he sighed. “I know my limits. Better than most, I’d wager. I cannot handle anything complicated right now.”

Cassandra huffed at him. “I would call Essa Trevelyan many things,” she decreed. “But complicated is not one of them.”

Cullen’s laugh was mirthless.

“Not to you,” he allowed. “But Essa is like the Fade. Whatever you carry to her, she will throw back at you with barbs.”

“And yet you miss her.”

“I will always miss her,” Cullen vowed. “Even if there comes a day when I can’t remember her.”


	7. Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the field. First person pov. Essa. Varric. Friendship.

“That’s it,” I affirmed flatly, watching as Varric read the last page of my tragic tale. “The first twenty years of my life in six entertaining chapters.”

Minus Hope anyway. Unless my life changed dramatically—again—my daughter was a secret that I would take to the pyre. In ten years, even the Fade had not teased her from my heart.

“It’s a shame I can’t publish this,” Varric mused appreciatively, shifting the papers neatly together. “You’re a fair wordsmith, kid.”

I grumbled at him, but I took the compliment and hoarded it. We had camped early that evening. There was only so much slogging through the muck we could do in a day and we’d stumbled on a better than usual site for our camp. The cave wasn’t deep, but it was drier than most spots. We had built our fire just outside the overhang, and while Solas and Blackwall gathered firewood for the night, Varric and I got our meal started.

“You were right,” I informed him, stirring a pot of stew that smelled considerably better than my last. “It went more smoothly once I wrote it like it was someone else’s story.”

He nodded. “I’m not going to change anything,” he decided. “I’ll give everyone and everywhere appropriate names and copy it into my hand, but…”

Varric shook his head. “This is a gift,” he declared softly. “Your life laid bare. I thank you for trusting me with it, but are you sure you want to give it to—“

He almost said ‘Curly’ but something in my eyes seemed to stop him. He glanced away from me, staring into the fire as if the flames held answers. I could have told him they didn’t.

“To anyone else?” he finally concluded.

I chuckled, more to set him at ease than because I found any real humor in the situation. I was getting better at managing my beloved two-leggeds. I still found horses easier.

“I know.” I smiled without my teeth. “I can hear Leliana’s lecture from here. State secrets and all that.”

Not that we had a state. Not that it would be particularly prudent to try to form one between two the largest political powers in Thedas. Politics, I thought forcing myself not to shudder. Varric would know it wasn’t from the cold and the last thing I wanted to do was talk about how the leader of the Inquisition bore politics a reckless and all-consuming malice.

“That’s why you’re writing it as a story and changing all the names,” I reminded him.

“You really think he needs all of this?”

I shrugged.  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe I’m the one who needs him to have all of it.”

“It’s risky,” Varric cautioned. Even with the names changed, the story was distinctive. A warrior made mage so late in life? I was, as far as anyone knew, the only one. “But if it ever sees light, I’ll claim it was in poor taste to base such a tragic tale on the life of Andraste’s Herald.”

“Thanks, Varric. I wouldn’t ask, but…I don’t know. I think it’s important.”

I didn’t want to think about why. My story was, at least, unlikely to be intercepted. Scout Harding had promised to deliver it to Cullen herself. With the passes frozen, travel to and from Skyhold was ill-advised, but not completely impossible, especially for a small, intrepid number of Leliana’s best. They still made occasional treks, involving ropes and spikes and a climb that made my stomach drop. I’d be increasing their hazard pay from my own coffers if Josie couldn’t find it in our funds. Not that they were making the trips on account of my personal correspondence, no that was just in addition to the tri-weekly reports my advisors insisted I make. Great detailed annoyances that couldn’t be attached to a crow’s leg.

“You get a letter back yet?”

“Bird flew into the forward camp just ahead of us,” I replied.

My first letter to Cullen had been little more than an earnest apology for my last night at Skyhold. I had mishandled his feelings and my own, and we had both been scraped tender and bruised like the morning after a storm. I had given myself the journey into the Hinterlands to gather my thoughts, and after a hot meal and long bath back at Master Dennet’s farm, I had carefully penned my contrition.

_I wish I could beg your forgiveness, Cullen, but I allowed my longing for absolution to rule me once and it nearly ruined me. I will not welcome it back. I am sorry though._

But I hadn’t been able to tell him what for.

Cullen’s first letter had been careful and terse a reply. If not for his request that I write him as often as I wanted, I might have stopped my impulsive correspondence.

_It is bitterly cold here, and there is a restlessness that seems to weigh upon the very stones of Skyhold. We all look anxiously toward spring and your return. Until then, I remain, Cullen._

I had read the last lines of his letter so many times that I no longer needed to, searching for meaning both hidden and direct. Had he agonized so over my words? I had a difficult time imagining Cullen brooding with the same devotion.

We had been in Crestwood for a week now, cleaning out the undead and helping the locals while we searched for Hawke’s warden friend. The green and the wet were still cold, but not enough to keep the mud from caking our boots and sticking to everything. After the five weeks we had spent first in the Hinterlands, I was feeling spoiled and churlish. The terrain had not often bogged down around me there. Everything in Crestwood took twice as long as it should have and I was surly. When I wasn’t killing things, I was scowling into the space above Geri’s withers. I had yet to reply to Cullen’s letter for fear that my mood would be read too easily.

“Still with me, Mirabelle?”

Varric waved one hand in front of my vacant stare, bringing me back from my thoughts. I hastily stirred the stew, scraping the bottom and sides carefully.

“I’m sorry, I was—“

“We’ve gotten used to it.” He waved off my apology. He lifted the parchment that he was still holding. “You’re sure about this?”

Was I? Of course not, and his asking me repeatedly wasn’t helping my trepidation. I sighed and would have jolted to my feet to pace but for Varric’s hand on my arm. Such a simple touch, one that so many took for granted. A bridge across the short distance between friends and familiar, and yet it had earned Cullen the edge of his own blade. I stared down at Varric’s hand. His grip was steady. Neither he nor Bull had ever flinched from me. Of course Bull had nearly broken my wrist. Varric just threatened to break my heart with the faith I saw behind the flames reflected in his eyes.

“You didn’t see his face that night,” I insisted quietly, sinking back onto my haunches. “Have you ever had someone look at you in complete disgust? At first it’s like you become something unrecognizable to them, but then they see you anew. You can watch it dawn in their eyes, and suddenly you are worse than an unknown. I may as well have been an abomination.”

Varric patted my arm in comfort. “I think you’re taking this whole thing a little harder than you should, kid. If Curly had thought you were an abomination, he’d have skewered you, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I managed a smile that was only a little tight round the edges. Varric opened his mouth to speak, and I knew a dozen defenses for Cullen that either of us might make.

“I knew it was going to be bad,” I confided, shaking my head to stop his words. “When I finally told him, I knew it would break whatever trust had grown between us. And I understand. He has suffered more than most. That he survived Kinloch Hold is a bitter mercy. One for which I am selfishly grateful. But I can be sympathetic, Varric, I can be understanding, and I can still want more for myself.”

Varric squeezed my arm before pulling away. His elbows found his knees and he leaned forward, staring into the campfire. He took the spoon from me and stirred our dinner absently.

“Mirabelle, most of us go our whole lives hiding the worst of ourselves and being thankful for the ones who love us without ever asking what we hide.” He sighed heavily and for all my life experience, I felt painfully young beside Varric. “Most of us who love do so without wanting those answers.”

“But that’s not real!” I sputtered.

He chuckled sadly. “Most would rather have the possible.”

“You’re saying that real love is impossible?” Everything in me rebelled at the notion.

“Most of the time, kid. Why do you think people love a good story? Because the brave and the true and the heroic burn too brightly to last. Folks cling to their legacies, light their own hearths with the embers.”

I stood again and this time Varric didn’t stop me.

“Send Cullen the story,” I ordered tersely. “Whatever he feels for me, it will be the truth.”

I stomped into the darkness, the ground squelching loudly in protest beneath my temper.


	8. A Bit of Starlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final piece for First Winter. Final bit of Cullen knitting (though he may show up knitting from time to time). 1500 words, Sera and Cullen. Friendship.

He made time each evening for knitting, usually after a game of chess with Dorian, sometimes after a long night of planning with Delrin and Cassandra. The templars were settling into Skyhold better than they had expected, but there were still so many considerations. They knew that theirs was not a permanent solution, but they no longer felt as if their lives might be uprooted at any moment. Eventually a new Divine would be chosen and the only thing that Cullen, Delrin, and Cassandra had agreed upon was that the templars would not go back to how they had been. For now, they were safe and reasonably content, if a bit anxious for the thaw.

By all appearances the templar who had attacked Essa had done so for personal reasons, but there were others who shared a measure of his venom if none of his violence. They were holding Josin for Essa's judgment at Ser Barris’s insistence, but Cullen didn’t believe Essa would thank them for it. Still, he was relieved that the dissent hadn’t gone deeper, and Leliana had increased her vigilance. Winter was nearly gone now and most of it had passed quietly.

“You ready?” Sera asked, leaning in one of the doorways to his office.

“Close the door,” Cullen called from his desk out of long habit.

“You got no roof, jackboot, you really gonna complain about the door being open?”

“I am.”

She rolled her eyes, but she closed the door affably enough.

“Have I forgotten some obligation?” he asked, glancing up from the letter he was working on. “Or are you here to bully me for your own amusement?”

Sera grinned. “Right. Not tonight. You’ve been in here longer than usual. Thought I’d let you buy me a drink.”

She rubbed the point of her chin back and forth along the edge of the bright yellow and white cowl she wore. It was his best piece. The bee stitch was a complicated pattern that had required weeks and stitch counters and tiny ribbon place holders, and more trips to the kitchen for Ola’s advice than he wanted to admit. It was cotton, so not quite as heavy as the weather called for, but Cullen had thought Sera could wear it more, and it would wash better. He had left it in her room without presentation or card, and Sera had been wearing it ever since without a word or a thank you.

Cullen finished up the last line on his parchment.

“Are you going to berate me for working too hard?” he asked, signing his name and carefully blotting the ink.

“Maybe.” Sera shuffled her feet, kicking absently at the floor. “Or maybe I just want to get the dirt from you. Little black bird told me you got a big fat letter from Varric. It’s either about Es, or it’s one of his stories. Need it either way.”

“So that’s your game.” Cullen folded the parchment carefully and began straightening his desk. “You would have stood a better chance bringing me a drink. I am not going to sit in the tavern spilling secrets over ale.”

“Ah-ha! From your lips to some one’s ears,” Sera said triumphantly. She pulled a bottle of wine from behind her back.

Cullen raised a brow at the bottle. “It’ll take more than that.”

She pulled the other hand from behind her revealing two more. Cullen laughed.

“Walk and talk,” Sera said, nodding at the door that led to the battlements. 

Cullen shook his head helplessly. Sera didn’t try to drag him from his work often, but he had learned that when she did he usually needed the break.

“Alright,” he said. “Would you like cups?”

“Too fancy for the bottle, jackboot?” Sera demanded with a scowl.

Cullen fought a smirk and lost. The expression rapidly became a grin as Sera leered at him.

“I know,” he sighed in resignation. “Save the prissy manners for the Winter Palace.”

“You know it,” Sera retorted.

She waited for him to grab his heavy cloak and knitting bag; she had stopped teasing him about his hobby right about the time Cullen gave up on hiding it from her. Sera was fascinated by the whole process. Not that she’d admit it, and Cullen was careful to keep the knowledge to himself while letting her watch him work.

They stepped out on to the battlements into a night just a bit warmer than the one before.The guard on duty was Edwen, and Cullen had to hide a smile at the dark red wrap of the scarf around his neck. After Cullen, Ola, and Nadie had managed hats, scarves, and mittens–those last had been a nightmare–for the children, Sera had begun distributing among the guards whatever projects Cullen managed to complete. It had become a bit of a game for her, snitching them from his room and leaving them on bunks or desks, or on sleeping heads.

Cullen had been surprised to find that most people had no idea from where the woolens were coming. It seemed that the secret he had thought poorly kept was being guarded rather fiercely. He still didn’t know where all of his yarn had come from, but he suspected Sera had a hand in that too.

“How’re the new needle things workin’ for you?” Sera asked once they were far enough down the walkway that the wind would carry her words out onto the mountains.

Those were less of a mystery. Leliana had commissioned Harritt for three sets of different sizes. They were all heavy gauge steel, the points just shy of too sharp to work with. It amused him that she had wanted them to be viable weapons. There was even a leather case for them that looked like a knife sheath.

“Carefully,” he admitted. “They’re sharp.”

Sera laughed. “You gonna let me throw them?”

She was certain she could make decent throwing spikes out of them.

“Maybe in the spring,” he offered, half-heartedly.

“Lies,” Sera said.

They walked down toward the stable, to the bend in the wall where the wind couldn’t bite as hard. It was near midnight, Cullen realized with a glance up at the clear, dark sky. Sera plunked into one of the crenulations, pulled a previously loosened cork out one of the bottles with her teeth, and passed it to him.

“So, friends, right?”

“Seems that way.” 

He wasn’t sure if she meant the two of them or if she was already back on the topic of him and Essa, but Cullen felt safe enough in his answer. He took a long drink, wondered how much he would need before the alcohol warmed him. He placed the bottle beside Sera’s leg and leaned against the adjacent wall. She opened her own wine and sipped, feet kicking as she watched him take out his latest knitting project.

“Oh,” Sera said in surprise. “That’s a lovely bit of stabby sewing, innit?”

The short length was just a hope yet, the fine silvery yarn another mysterious gift.

“Do you think it’s too…” He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. Fancy, delicate, ridiculous.

Sera waved one hand at him. “Don’t be daft. Like a bit of starlight it is. If she doesn’t love it, I’ll—“

Cullen finished a few quick stitches while Sera alternately mimed kicking Essa and bashing her over the head with her bottle. He was touched. Sera’s loyalty, he had learned, was usually expressed with threats of violence. He hadn’t expected them against Essa.

“So…this letter?”

Ah, she hadn’t forgotten then.  Cullen paused in his work to take a too-enthusiastic swig from the bottle she had given him. The red was a higher quality than usual. He made a note to check with Josie in case he needed to replace or pay for stolen goods later.

“It was a story,” Cullen hedged. “A rather sad one.”

Sera’s eyes narrowed. “About a warrior?”

“Yes,” he watched her carefully, gave her the next bit of information. “And a mage.”

“Too many feelings in that one,” Sera pronounced quickly, glancing out at the mountains.

“A great deal, yes.” Cullen agreed.

“You read it to the end?”

“I don’t think the story is over, do you?”

Sera rolled her eyes. “Piss no.” Then she added aggressively, “It better not be.”

Cullen finished knitting his row, gloved fingers moving like whispers over the fine yarn. Sera stared down at her kicking feet.

“Be sure,” she muttered finally.

“About what?” Cullen met her gaze for a moment.

“About her,” Sera said with uncommon straightforwardness. “Wouldn’t enjoy hurting you, jackboot, but I’d have to make you pay, right?”

He wanted to give her the words she wanted. Longed for them to be true, but because they were being honest, Cullen replied, “I can’t remember a time that I felt less certain.”

“Did you like the hero?” Sera asked abruptly. “In Varric’s story.”

“I did,” he admitted. “Quite a lot. It surprised me.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“It isn’t that simple,” Cullen argued. “I wish it were.”

“Make it simple,” Sera snarled.

She tilted back her bottle, took several angry gulps. Cullen patted her awkwardly in comfort until she kicked him for his trouble.

“I don’t know how,” he confessed, holding carefully to his needles so that he could take another long drink.

The wine had finally started to warm him, but between it and the conversation he was too distracted to knit. After spending so many evenings together, Sera knew the signs. She held his bag open for him to the tuck the work away.

“Arse,” Sera mumbled, giving up all pretenses. “What are you?”

He thought they were friends. Which of itself was a terrible enough idea. That he still found himself wanting more than that was absurd. Knowing the truth of her, reading the story of her past…he shouldn’t want her the way that he did, but now, on the nights when nightmares didn’t drag him from sleep, he woke from too vivid dreams of freckled skin and wide grey eyes and the memory of her body pressed to his.

“A fool,” Cullen answered.

Sera laughed. “Yeah, you are,” she returned vehemently. “Finish your bottle. Need another if I’ma forget to be mad at everything.”

“Why are  _you_ mad at everything?”

“Arse,” Sera said again.


End file.
